


Seven

by Żeni (JD_Centric)



Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Christianization, Crying, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Centric/pseuds/%C5%BBeni
Summary: Their peace lasted less than thirty years. Bulgaria now called himself an empire and despite his promises – Byzantium was ready to wipe the memory of him out of history, both the future and past one.
Relationships: Bulgaria/Byzantine Empire (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079207
Kudos: 4





	Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeey, very quick, very sudden, but I needed to write this, this was one of the first ideas for this entire series, part two of the Mountain Wreath historical series! I was incredibly inspired by Sienkiewicz's Quo Vadis, to be honest, I have to read the entire thing till Tuesday and you bet I'm reading for hours a day and it's just so good, plus I couldn't help but play around with the Bulgaria/Byzantium ship since I've been seeing it a lot lately in newer fics which is really cool! I myself, being Bulgarian, have grown up with Byzantium in the history books but it was only recently that I got back to the historical aspect of that relationship and found something very...frenemy-ish in it that I liked!  
> *The historical even present - the Christianization of the Bulgarians during the rule of Boris I, meant to unite the Slavs and Bulgars for good, also the fight between Rome and Constantinople to gain control of the young country through religion. Wikipedia says that Boris was forced to accept Christianization from Byzantium but what it doesn't mention is that he had it all planned out and had in mind pressuring both sides and accepting Christianity from the one power that allowed him a separate church - he received that about six years later. Christianization was a painful but fruitful process that made of Bulgaria an example since no other nation until then had ever pressed to have their own separate church.  
> *Wikipedia also says that the rivalry between Bulgaria and Byzantium is one of the longest-lasting in history which, considering they had years of wars that were incredibly dramatic and years of peace where they both very stealthily threw salt at each other and were very passive-aggressive is remarkable and I love it - it's nice to point out that both nations fought against the Ottoman empire to protect Christianity, so rivalry aside, both in my opinion deserve a pat on the back (considering, I don't know, that Byzantium actually died so that little shit Greece could live)  
> *Everything related to Slavic lore and culture and history is so mythical and magical and just makes my heart beat faster - in this case, the story of the Seven Slavic tribes that created a country with the Turkic Bulgars, I mean, Seven Slavic tribes - sounds like something from Lord of the rings, don't it??  
> I will not bombard you with historical facts, if you're interested you can check out in-depth all there is to see about both this ship in historical terms and the mentioned events c: Thanks for stopping by to read this, I hope you liked it and please do drop a comment with polite critique and just to tell me how I've done! <33

He allowed him to live as a country and two centuries later he watched him be brought into his faith. The boy was by blood, of course, still a barbarian. He had proclaimed himself an empire – there was nothing funnier than that. But, the true problem lay in the very roots of their history, Byzantium was old and wise enough to know so.

It was during Constantine’s reign when the boy was born – a fateful and unlucky year. The threat came from across the Danube in a wave vicious and disastrous. The barbarians were descendants of a country with laws, a pantheon of gods they worshipped and a tribe that though they might have been travellers were fierce warriors that knew how to run a republic. Byzantium had known the great old man and had raised and tutored many of his children until he found out, with a heavy heart, that he just wasn’t there anymore, not where he should’ve been.

“They’re a threat, that has decided to settle into your land,” the Emperor told him in privacy one evening, his eyes full of thunder and anger at the thought of losing to the barbarians the fruitful lands they were planning on taking. “They have no morals and know not the heavy hand and laws of God! They are but animals, parasites sent to destroy you!”

“Can we not defend ourselves from them?” Byzantium asked. He was in age but a young empire but fierce and unforgiving when faced with the prospect of conflict. He felt in no way threatened by the barbarians. It was the belief that they possessed not only power and quantity but also the ability to think and to plan, possessed rational thought and knowledge inherited by the country they had governed, made him cautious.

“And if not fight them and defend ourselves, can we not use them? We already share a border with the tribes of Slavs, if we can use both them and these new barbarians as a wall against our future enemies, won’t that be of more use to us?”

The empire had mistaken greatly, thinking that he could tame the new threat, however – those barbarians weren’t at all as willing to negotiate as the Slavs were, in fact, in the blink of an eye it seemed they had become their masters. There was no way of escaping the conflict and little did Byzantium know that he would be forced to make the most import decision of his life as an empire – it was his word that in that fateful year he despised and considered a rip in the fine, gold-sewn satin of his fine, royal tunic gave birth to a nation, to the biggest and most painful torn in his side.

The boy had no mother and had no father but he believed to be the son of a great and ambitious khan, born of the union between his people and seven other tribes. He spoke a language that sounded Slavic but worshipped gods that weren’t, fought in a manner that was different than those of the Slavs Byzantium knew and unlike them had a heart that yearned for travel and adventure. He was unruly, dark-haired and bright-eyed and incredibly sharp for his age; Byzantium knew he was born to be a threat and it annoyed him rather than worried him.

He watched the nation grow and wondered every time his existence came to his mind – Byzantium knew it annoyed his emperor, his senators and lovers greatly. Every time he thought of his new neighbour, he’d forget everything else and hate himself for having allowed the birth of such a wild brat, untamable and raw. But only when said child one day, many years after his birth, waltzed into his palace did he realise the mistake he had made.

All of this brought Byzantium to the present – he sat on one of the marble benches in the chamber neighbouring his bathing quarters with a beautiful Greek slave massaging his back and shoulders with aromatic scents and oils while another gorgeous woman with ebony skin served him whine in a golden cup and cross-armed in front of him with an expression full of smugness and prideful stood Bulgaria.

“Should I ask for an invitation?” The heathen asked.

“Maybe you were never invited,” Byzantium nearly yelled, his neighbour’s presence ruining his pleasant afternoon. “What do you want, barbarian?”

“I have made a decision. Related to our previous conversations.”

Knowing what the boy meant, Byzantium felt interest overcome him. He made one of his slaves bring more wine and fruits and waved Bulgaria over – in the midday heat and the natural humidity of the marble room, the young nation seemed almost too dressed in his heavy ruby garments lined with golden threads. He was, however, energetic as he walked confidently over to the bench Byzantium sat on and, without an ounce of fear or shame, he sat down beside him.

“What is it that you want to talk about?” Byzantium asked, having a hunch already.

He could see Bulgaria had become a bit apprehensive now that he was there, he considered his next words carefully before finally looking back at the empire.

“I can not bear to go to war with you, Empire,” he said, “and not because I love or fear you. We have spoken already and my great ruler is stubborn, what he wishes, I and my people will give him, so I hope, no, _want_ you to give me the same.”

The boy straightened up and raised his chin, looking almost like an empire himself, though his confidence placated Byzantium none.

“I have decided to accept your God,” Bulgaria declared. “And I have one demand of you – a church of my own, one controlled by a Bulgarian patriarch. Allow me that and I shall accept the word of your God in the way your men speak it. I demand that you-“

“You demand?” The empire laughed, not moved at all by the young nation's tone. “Who are you to demand anything of me, heathen?! We have approached you and your ruler with the offer to accept the light of God and be united under the rule of our church, you either accept or you don’t, we will not negotiate further!”

“By the word of Boris,” Bulgaria narrowed his eyes, angry at the empire that he had interrupted him and raised his voice at him, “I am allowed to make my demands to you known! Our church shall not be a vassal of yours, we ask that you allow it.”

“You use the wrong words and you’re unfit to be a mediator, unlike your current ruler who I have to admit has a golden tongue. Did you come here thinking that I would yield to your whim? You must’ve gone to Rome first to ask them to allow you a separate church, am I right? And you saw that they would never allow it, you came here, thinking that I’d allow it…You really are a child still.”

“I will not accept your faith if this is the way you treat my wishes.”

And though Byzantium was cautious to deny Bulgaria again, knowing how stubbornly the brat held onto his beliefs, he would never allow him more control than he had already. Ever since his ruler had decided upon it, Bulgaria had been going back and forth between Rome and Constantinople, negotiating and bargaining – they had all let him get what he wanted for far too long, the empire couldn’t think of anything more childish than annoying your enemies to death until they finally succumbed to your wishes!

But, in times when religion was one of the primary weapons one could use to his advantage, in war and in politics, his emperor would destroy him with his own two hands dared Byzantium miss the chance of uniting the new Bulgarian patriarchy with his own church. They couldn’t waste any more time – what if Rome finally decided to grand the brat his wish of having his own church, one under the wing of the Roman one?

“My word remains final,” he told Bulgaria, much to the young nation’s disbelief. “There will be _no_ separate Bulgarian church!”

“Then I will _not_ be your vassal!” Bulgaria declared, standing up.

We’ll see about that, Byzantium wanted to yell after him but he was well above such childish banters. Though Bulgaria did have the courage to bring out the worst in him, since the day they met first, in battle.

There was no time to think and negotiate, every day was a day lost in the fight between himself and the Roman Catholics over Bulgaria. Secretly, Byzantium felt protective over the young nation – ever since he had been born, he had been there to watch him grow and raise him even through their wars, victories and losses. He had been overjoyed when Bulgaria had told him that he was ready to accept God and refute his old beliefs, the thought that the brat would seek out the Roman church hadn’t even crossed his mind, why would it? As a centre of orthodoxy and dear neighbour, also considering the violent pressure between them, it seemed only natural that Bulgaria would ask him to…hold his hand, maybe, read to him the words of God and expose him to the light that was his love and devotion.

It was only after many sleepless nights that he gave in finally to the nation’s wishes and called him back to the palace. Byzantium always wanted to have the upper hand and if he could get that by taking a step back in favour of Bulgaria then maybe that would be worth it. Through his word Bulgaria had been born and it would be through his word again that he would be baptised and given a good Christian name so the brat would remember him, for as long as he was allowed to live in the world of wolves.

“Has Rome given you an answer?” He asked when Bulgaria returned with his rulers. He wore the clothes of a noble but it was his behaviours and mannerism that proved he was still a barbarian.

The young nation shook his head, “They gave an answer but not one I liked.”

“And if I allowed you a separate church, what would you do for me in return?”

“Is it not enough to be…made Christian by your hand? Instead of war, you’ll receive from me peace.”

Byzantium regarded him with a blank stare before sitting up from the pile of embroidered pillows and luxurious bedding he lay on. He made the young nation follow him outside in the garden and walked with him across the fresh grass, watching the noble children play there under the watchful eyes of the slaves as the exotic birds waddled around the large pools and the fountains and bathed in the cool waters.

“Tell me, what rule were your lands under when you were born?” He asked, as the two sat in the shade of the trees and watched the sun set behind the royal palace and the guest quarters.

“Greek,” Bulgaria replied, bitterly and rudely. He knew not whose lands he had been born on but he had been taught his history and made to remember it.

“Then why did you even go to beg the support of the Franks and Rome?!” Byzantium exclaimed, his tone almost scolding. “I will…grant you a church. Not fully separate, my own will oversee it, but it will not force upon you unneeded influence. Forget about Rome, Bulgaria, and realise that you belong to the Orthodox Mother church and belief!”

He could see that the young nation wasn’t fully convinced in the worth of accepting religion – he believed his ruler’s word and accepted that it was only right to unite his people, even if that meant erasing the beliefs he had lived with and worshipped and declare himself a child of a single, all-loving and forgiving God. Of course, his little head couldn’t even imagine the grandness of such a being, he might have been acting all bold and confidant all this time but Byzantium was centuries older and knew far much more about the world.

Secretly, Bulgaria feared the change, no matter if it was for the good of his people and himself. He had grown much over the years and had learned many things but accepting Byzantium’s God would be the ultimate change, the decision that would finally turn him into an official part of Europe’s elite.

“You’re hesitant,” the empire pointed out, not meaning to make fun of him, “I understand. But you do realise that we’re through with waiting for you to make a decision. You started a huge fight between me and Rome, brat, and we’ve all had enough of you and what you want and don’t want.”

“If you promise to make my church independent then I have no reason not to accept you,” Bulgaria said then he smiled, knowingly. “I got you good, both of you, didn’t I?”

Caring little for the slave that had come to bring them wine, Byzantium reached up and took the boy’s jaw between his fingers; his grip was tighter than it was polite and he saw Bulgaria’s cocky smile falter, insecurity flooding his round eyes.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he told him, quietly, the anger his wounded ego caused visible in his heated glare and in his tone of voice. “I would’ve never guessed you’d survive for so long that I would have to see you accept the Lord’s faith.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Bulgaria smiled anew, without much enthusiasm or desire to smile. “For my king, I’d do anything.”

He spoke with such passion and confidence that Byzantium couldn’t contain himself. Without bothering to ask for permission and caring little about decency, he closed the space between them and gifted the young nation with a kiss that spoke more than all the words ever could.

He had thought of himself until then, until the young nation’s birth, as pure and devoted to the love of his Lord. It was with his name on his tongue and his symbol on his chest and shield that he went to war with, it was a prayer he awoke every morning and closed his eyes to sleep at night and it was his divine image that gave him comfort whenever he thought of his own life and immortality. Byzantium had been born by the will of Christ, his heart full of love towards the Lord.

And it was because of that that he both hated and longed for Bulgaria – wanted both to show the stubborn child the light of God but also hating the Lord each time he thought of offering him the young nation instead of claiming him for himself, of destroying him, making him a slave until he disappeared without a trace. There was no place in history for both people and nations that knew not when they had to stop.

Either startled by the sudden advance or uncertain how to return the gesture, Bulgaria tensed in his arms and only barely relaxed when Byzantium’s hand let go of his jaw in favour of tangling into his short hair, the colour of which was a reminder of Bulgaria’s barbaric, Turkic ancestry. Whether the boy had ever been touched in such a way he couldn’t be sure but by the way his eyes fluttered shut in bliss and his cheeks filled with colour, Byzantium could tell it wasn’t a touch he felt often.

“You have one God now,” he told him when the young nation blinked his large eyes open to look at him, hoping for something more he couldn’t name, “and you’ll love only him unconditionally to receive his love in return.”

The thought of loving anyone and anything but himself maybe didn’t appeal to him because Bulgaria frowned heavily and slapped away Byzantium’s hand before getting up from the bench and marching off, his face as flushed as an apple.

He had no mother and no father, was not born of the love between a man and woman – instead, Bulgaria knew a father, a great and noble khan, and he knew the love of gentle and kind spirit that had taught him patience and nobility. He was born not by the bond between a male and female but of the love between tribes and cultures – seven of nobility and one of barbarians, seven that knew peace and knew how to use their own hands to grow their food and build homes and an eight one of warriors and nomads that had taught them how to guard one another and the borders of the great empire they neighboured.

Bulgaria had known that duality since birth – the desire to fight and to travel clashing with the need to settle in the beautiful plains he was born in. But none of that mattered suddenly when the day came for those differences to be burnt away and Bulgaria finally found peace and closure – he finally felt whole and united but along with that pleasure a wave of regret came crashing over him. It took along his sense of belonging, his history, his pride and honour and all that had made him his own.

A new fight of emotions began that day – one between wanting to turn back time and to cling to the unconditional love that washed over him when he was lowered into the cold water in the copper basin.

The names of not two, not four but ten gods hung on his lips that he wanted to pray to but when someone grabbed his hands and pulled him back up and out of the water, he was greeted by only one – that of Christ, the almighty lord. And his eyes saw the face of Byzantium, the almighty empire, one and only and the one that greeted him first with an expression of power and pride when he took his hands and helped him cross the threshold between his barbaric beliefs and God’s religion.

They covered his naked, shivering body with a heavy tunic as a prayer was said for him and his people and drew the cross in the air above his head while he sought comfort in the empire’s sure and secure arms. Every religion was quite alike, Bulgaria decided, as he took part in the holy rite. Christians worshiped their God, _his_ God, in a way similar to that he had worshipped the old ones, with care and love, with the thought of security on their minds and confidence that his presence was sacred and the only one that mattered.

“In the name of the Lord, the Father and Holy Spirit, you are welcomed into His faith, to be cherished and loved by Him as his child,” someone in a fanciful religious attire spoke beside him, though Bulgaria had eyes for the Byzantine empire only at that moment, “may you receive His blessing, may you love Him and cherish Him and fight for His name. Accept Him into your heart and embrace His spirit, rebuke your fake spirits and demons, for from now on you shall carry the name Aleksander, child of God and his humble slave.”

“I have one God,” Bulgaria, newly baptised, quietly said, looking up at Byzantium through wet lashes, “and I shall worship you as you demand of me.”

His words must’ve insulted him because Byzantium pushed him away, at arm's length, before the baptism continued with the family of the king and the king himself.

“Should I feel different?” He asked the empire only days later. Byzantium had been made to stay in Pliska, to teach the young nation the word of God and offer his support for as long as it was needed, though he was expected to return soon to Constantinople.

“Now that I’m Christian, should I feel different?” Bulgaria asked again when Byzantium looked at him with a raised brow. “I was confidant in my decision before but I am not now. I feel like you cheated me. And I feel like I owe you. I don’t want that.”

“It will pass, the uncertainty,” Byzantium assured. “Find comfort in God’s words, pray to him for answers, and he shall give.”

“Would your God… _our_ God, be mad at me for having love towards another?”

“As God has said, love one another and in that love, you will find him. What exactly are you asking me, Bulgaria?”

The young nation got up from the bed where he had laid upon and crossed the room to stand before the empire. Unlike the palaces in Constantinople, Pliska was a heart of stone that beat with life and Bulgaria adored his home more than he would ever the luxurious chambers in Byzantium’s royal palaces.

“I don’t care for a God,” he said, naively. “It’s you I see, it’s you who…keeps on carving himself into my history. And I can’t get you out of it, because you’re always there.”

“Don’t confuse the love of God with an obsession towards me,” Byzantium warned.

“You’re a weak spot-“

“You’re a young brat who knows no boundaries and manners.”

“Why would you invite a young brat without manners to Constantinople to tutor him then?” Bulgaria asked, meeting the lack of response with childish spite.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The empire asked. “Why bring you into my home, why give you, a barbarian, all you could have? It’s called being a good politician, something that’s shown to be a good way to handle _you_.”

“I hate you,” Bulgaria said through gritted teeth, having heard already something he knew he would have hated to hear.

“You shouldn’t love me,” Byzantium only said, raising a hand to toy with the young nation’s hair. This time Bulgaria was first to kiss him, in spite of him and the God he had made him believe in.

He let Byzantium lead him back towards the bed where laid him down and undressed him before undressing himself and letting him admire the body women of all ages, princesses and Greek nymphs had longed for. Bulgaria was by no means a child himself anymore, his body was maturing, slowly, but he wasn’t a man yet either. He let his enemy in through the front door, with every kiss and every caress, every longing look, every gentle touch and loving embrace.

It was a moment that managed to move him, ugly as his heart was in comparison to Byzantium’s, and for the second time, he looked at the empire as he would at an only God.

“I’ll fight for you,” he promised, after, when he lay in the empire’s arms and breathed in his scent, bathed in his warmth. “I’ll fight for you, for your God, and against you, dare you try to stand against me.”

“You’re too confident,” Byzantium almost laughed, looking down at the boy’s foreign features and tracing his brows, his nose, his lips and the shells of his ears with kind fingers. “I can crush you. I have, many times before.”

“I have too,” Bulgaria replied readily. “And I will again.”

“All I want with now is peace, Bulgaria.”

Though the young nation was visibly burning with impatience to knock him down, Byzantium knew he had managed to ground him and so it would be years before they found a reason to start a war again.

“I’ll defend your faith until then,” Bulgaria promised.

He spoke a language melodic and Slavic in nature yet his name was not Slavic, his eyes deep, his hair dark and his character unruly. He knew not what he was or who he was – he had been called Bulgaria, Byzantium had named him Aleksander by the will of his God and faith, but that hadn’t lifted the sense of confusion that had haunted him since the day he had realised he had been born and that he existed, for better or worse, the way he did.

A nature so mystical and magical fought centuries with the one that wanted to pillage and murder and destroy, the object of his desire – Constantinople, beneath the walls of which his nobility had fallen, times and times again while he tried to burn down the city of marble and gold. Neither the language that all spoke now, nor the name, nor the religion helped settle those inner battles of his.

“God shall forgive you,” Byzantium, who he had fought against from the day of his birth, comforted him in the evening after his struggles had manifested finally into reality and had taken with themselves the lives of innocents, the lives of his nobles and the weeds whose poisonous growth threatened the new era.

“You have sinned not of desire to do so but of lack of knowledge. You shall be forgiven by our loving Lord, for you have received penance already and you pray for his forgiveness.”

Bulgaria was inconsolable; he cried, burying his face in his thighs while he held onto him in desperation. It didn’t matter to him if a God he might never see forgave him, it mattered to him if his people would ever call themselves his and love him the way they had, protect him how they had, now that he had bloodied his hands and those of his king.

“Think of your future,” Byzantine advised, quietly, pressing feverish kisses to the young nation’s forehead, his cheeks and neck. “There will be bloodshed but its necessary, if you want them all to see the light. Not all will accept Christ as readily but it will be for their own good. I promise you, Aleksander, you will stay in history – as an example.”

He brushed the boy’s tears so fresh ones could fall freely. Not even the promise of an eternity as a powerful nation could console him and assure him that he had done the right thing.

A part of him the barbarians had brought form lands his heart longed for – another part of him they had met there, where he had been born, when they had formed the perfect alliance with the Seven tribes.

All he could think of now, torn between the past and future as he cried bitterly in the arms of his greatest enemy, was that his roots had been torn from him – there was unity, finally, and his inner struggle had been put to an end. The cost of that, however, was a pain greater than Bulgaria was willing to accept, at only a few centuries of age.

Their peace lasted less than thirty years. Bulgaria now called himself an empire and despite his promises – Byzantium was ready to wipe the memory of him out of history, both the future and past one.


End file.
